


small things (turning into birds)

by kiira



Category: Jane the Virgin (TV)
Genre: Gen, abuse cw, mmmmmmm pETRA NATALIA MMMMMM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 21:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3333260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiira/pseuds/kiira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>there is one thing you must remember about natalia ruzicka: she is alone. </p><p>(or, what happened after chapter thirteen)</p>
            </blockquote>





	small things (turning into birds)

One important thing about Natalia Ruzicka: you are always, forever alone.

It’s not something you pity yourself for (something you feel as a empty, hollow being between your ribs) but it’s a fact and: you are always alone.

/

Something soft and sick and ( _I told you, myš, no man will love you as I do_ ) has settled over your nose and mouth ( _and mother_ , you think,  _mother please help me, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry_ ) but you turn on one heel and march back into the hotel.

You have less (much less) money that you expected and it’s mostly memories of mold and broken glass bottles that force you to make the phone call (you can’t really afford to stay here, but  _god_  the only person who’s shown you a drop of kindness is pregnant with your (ex) husband’s child).

There’s something like tears in your throat, but one important thing about Petra Solano: you do not cry. Not ever.

/

You dial Jane’s phone number.

/

Hang up before she can answer.

/

Milos smiles at you, and you throw up in the bathroom. Flitting from protector to protector to protector to (they have all betrayed you, and your hands shake and wipe your mouth).

You fuck him that night, and try not to breathe too loudly when he falls asleep, his arm a heavy weight on your waist, his money a heavy weight around your wrists. Jagged; rough; a half-cousin to crying and: Petra Solano does not cry. Petra Solano is brave and ice and cold; a  _man-eater_  a  _slut_  a  _gold digger_ ; Petra Solano chews men up and spits them out between her perfect, perfect teeth.

(You are broke and sleeping with a man who tried to kill you once.)

Natalia makes a broken, gasping child noise and Petra places her hand over your mouth ( _shh, Natalia, shh, we mustn't wake the beast_ ). You take your hand away from your lips and bite down hard on the flesh.

/

You call Jane.

/

She doesn’t pick up.

/

“I’m sorry,” you would say to Ivan if he hadn’t escaped into the night with your gun pointed at his head, “I’m sorry,” because it’s day four of being Milos’s partner and he’s locked you in his hotel room for three of them ( _for your protection, drahá_ , he whispers wetly in your ear, and what the  _fuck_  is he protecting you from?)

I’m sorry, Ivan, because there’s only so many reruns of  _The Passions of Santos_  that you can watch before you consider jumping out a window (climbing down the side of the building; crawling through the air vents; you think of a thousand ways you could leave: you stay).  

(You fantasize about knocking Milos out and escaping, but  _stupid Petra, stupid_  because where would you get the money from then?)

He doesn’t take your phone away; he thinks you have no one to call.

/

You call Jane again.

/

“I’m sorry,” you say quickly into the phone, “I must have dialed wrong,” and Jane makes a humming noise on the other end.

“You sure, Petra?” She says, and  _Petra_  sounds so cold, foreign, horrible on her tongue that you shudder a bit, “Cause, you know, we haven’t really seen you around lately. You good?”

She could be talking to a friend, not the woman who tried to take her child away in court, the woman who ( _man-eater, slut, gold digger_ ).

“Natalia,” you answer.

“Sorry?”

“Natalia. Not Petra,” and it’s like a confession (please help me Jane) but she doesn’t understand and Milos walks in the door.

“Natal-” and you hang up the phone.

/

Milos smiles pretty at you for five days, three hours and ten minutes, strokes your hair and promises to let you go when it’s  _safe for you, drahá_. In the eleventh minute, he tugs you back to the bed by your ponytail and claws his fingers into your sides (bruises, you think distantly, bruises); one hand comes to trace your jaw (you shudder, Petra-Natalia-Petra does not cry).

Squeezes; hits.

(You shut your eyes; you are eighteen again and everything blooms sick yellow purple).

Breathe; soft.

(The sun filtering through glass, the feel of silk on your skin, listening to pop music in your car; happy, happy, happy.)

Breathe: once, twice. Door slams.

(He comes back later with tulips and an apology hot in his mouth; you let it burn into your neck.)

/

You call Jane.

/

She picks up quickly, and she sound  _worried_ , worried about you and a laugh bubbles out of your mouth.

“Pet- Natalia, where  _are_  you?”

“The hotel,” you answer, because yeah: that’s not a lie, and Jane hums into the phone.

“Lachlan left, you know that? Who are you with?”

You are not a  _child_  and Jane sounds like she’s talking to one, so you slip back into Petra, her glittering self fitting over (bruises).

“It’s really none of your business, Jane.”

Jane sighs. “You called  _me_ , Natalia. Now, I have actual work to go to.”

You nod.

(Jane can’t see you.)

“It must have been a mistake. Why would I call you?”

(Jane, please help me.)

“I don’t  _know_. If you want it to be a mistake, fine. It’s a mistake.

(Jane please.)

She hangs up the phone.

/

There is one thing you must remember about Natalia Ruzicka: she is alone.

And once, she cried in a stairwell (Petra Solano does not  _cry_ ) and someone looked at her and  _cared_. Once, Natalia Ruzicka let someone touch her (was touched) with something other than manipulation, once (Jane, please help me).

There is one thing you must remember about Petra Solano: she is not real.

/

It’s easy for you to slip Petra’s cool disdain on and off (beneath that is  _fear_  and dear god you’re  _afraid_ ). Petra’s sparkling, smooth varnish crackles sometimes and you gasp for air. The hotel room is small and you have paced the four wall three thousand, two hundred and forty two times. You have watched every episode of  _The Passions of Santos_ ; you want to run away.

/

You call Jane.

/

"Jane," you whisper (Natalia whispers), "help."

**Author's Note:**

> strange perspective changes? check  
> weird ways of phrasing things? check


End file.
